Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2011-03-10 11:39 am
azurelunatic) wrote2011-03-10 11:39 am
Fucking shoes.
In retrospect, shoes have become symbolic of every moment of obligatory gender and other role performance that required to go out of my way and to some expense and personal discomfort-shading-into-agony for something I do not want to do.
I am a person who voluntarily wears the same pair of shoes, black knee-high stockings, a mid-calf or longer black skirt, a black top, and a black knit cardigan, week in, week out. (Currently I've the four good everyday black skirts and the one that needs mended, plus some better-than-everyday skirts.) Since 2000, I have leveled up from shorts and a tank top to everyday business casual that is simultaneously comfortable and allows me to perform minor feats of athleticism above and beyond what I am actually capable of doing, and it is good.
In my everyday clothes, I do not have to think about what I am wearing, either while I am getting ready to put it on, while I am actually wearing it, or while I am washing it. I do not have to contend with mismatching colors, even though the chances are small in an aggressively Winter wardrobe. It is enough of a problem getting clothes on me and out the door already. Either something gets put into the routine and becomes an everyday thing (or if the routine gets too big, it crashes and then we have to rebuild) or it does not happen except for Very Special Events. I do not have to contend with clothing that will drive me crazy, in the literal bad-for-my-mental-health sense of the word. Clothing that needs alterations to fit properly -- that is not reasonable for me, because of the time it takes for me to get to it on my to-do list. I do not have to contend with clothing that will curtail my activities. I can walk about. I do not need to fear elevated grated walkways. I do not need to fear that someone will step on my shoe, or spill something on my skirt. I do not need to fear that I will spill something on my shirt, because the fabric washes and does not tend to attract stains. I am clumsy. I have large breasts. I have a tomboy's tropism for dirt and mud, even when I am trying my best to care for my clothing.
Locating clothing that fits all my standards is non-trivial. I am large, with large breasts, I wear skirts, I wear black. I am often on an uncomfortable budget without room for large purchases (see the Sam Vimes "Boots" Theory of Economic Injustice). I have not entirely embraced ordering things from catalogs (this includes websites). (Please, ffs, do not turn the comments section into advice on where to shop; I do not think I could handle that right now.) When my wardrobe is insufficient, I check the clothing sections of places where I have successfully gotten clothing that fits my standards as a matter of routine, in hopes that they a) have something, and b) it's in the budget. I do not actually enjoy shopping for clothing under most circumstances.
I know that my view of everyday clothes is not everybody's view of everyday clothes. I know some people have clothes that need to be treated very delicately, and wear them every day. My father at one point took it into his head that to get ahead at work, to be treated like a respectable adult at work and not like the disposable geek, he should dress in business wear. So he switched from jeans and tan work shirts to "plastic clothes" (his term), and he washed and ironed them himself because no one else could be trusted to do it right (and I suspect Mama put her foot down and decided to have none of this noise, and if he was going to create extra work by changing his lifestyle, then he could pick up the extra work that it took). From my perspective as a child, it seemed to be something that gave him very little actual benefit but a whole lot of pain in the ass. We knew about the pain in the ass because he told us about it. (Perhaps he was less complainy than I remember, but it was quite vigorously apparent to us that he resented wearing this, he resented the care it took, and any time he was upset, there was a certain amount of spillover on anyone who had to deal with him. He did not consciously make the decision that because he hated his life, hated his job, and hated wearing plastic clothes, that he would make our lives miserable, but there is only so far you can cope with an irritated guy with an avalanche temper.) I deal with irritation in ways similar to my father. I get snappy. Things that would not otherwise bother me, bother me more. People around me have the pleasure of dealing with me in a Mood. I don't like dealing with me in a Mood. I don't like inflicting that on my friends. So I try to arrange things such that I am not upset often.
So my position on regularly wearing clothes that have fussy care requirements is sort of like my position on being monogamous: some of the people I know practice it, some of them seem to get something out of it, it's really not something I "get", and it seems to cause a lot of misery that from my perspective is mostly unnecessary. It's a valid choice that people make, and I don't want to take that choice away from them, but when all it seems to do is make them complain, my reaction is more "Look at your life! Look at your choices!" than sympathy.
Some Very Special Events, the costuming ritual is part of the buildup of excitement. I want to be there, and I want to look like this, and everything that I do is an important and fulfilling part of it. This is what it's for. This is the good side. This is what allows me to have any degree of sympathy for the people who do this regularly.
Some, I know I want to be there, and I know how I want to look, and I recognize that how I want to look is not going to be comfortable. So I can either go dressed comfortably but miss the exact look I was pitching for, or go dressed uncomfortably and get the look right. I resent the choice. Sometimes I opt for the look, and I usually regret it. Sometimes I opt for comfort, and I am usually fine, but I still wish I had the look. Sometimes I opt for the look and miss by a fucking mile, and then I'm neither comfortable nor looking like I want to, and that makes me cranky as hell.
Some, it's pure irritation. I want to be there, but I resent like fucking hell the fact that I have to DO ALL THIS FUCKING SHIT WHICH I HATE DOING to look as I am expected to look. This gets in the way of my enjoyment, and often as not I wish I'd stayed home. Due to my assorted fun with mobility, shoes are a particular problem. Bad shoes make the difference between "can walk with pain" and "cannot walk". Shoes that look good and feel good are not cheap. I am lucky that I prefer black shoes, because otherwise I'd be searching for type, look, size, comfort, budget, and color, rather than just the five factors. (We have seen my rageface when adding the sixth. Kat is lucky I love her.)
Sometimes, I don't even want to be there, and those are the worst. If, anywhere in there, is clothing that causes me active discomfort, I will be even more miserable and resentful throughout. Since I am in theory a grown-ass adult, I would hope that I would keep the actual complaints about this to Twitter, where it would be out of the way of the people actually trying to enjoy whatever it was. If it's optional, I don't go.
Even the anticipation or fear of clothing discomfort is sometimes enough to make me completely flip my stack, and rationality is no longer a part of this conversation. In short?
SHOES. FUCKING SHOES. I HATE FUCKING SHOES.
I am a person who voluntarily wears the same pair of shoes, black knee-high stockings, a mid-calf or longer black skirt, a black top, and a black knit cardigan, week in, week out. (Currently I've the four good everyday black skirts and the one that needs mended, plus some better-than-everyday skirts.) Since 2000, I have leveled up from shorts and a tank top to everyday business casual that is simultaneously comfortable and allows me to perform minor feats of athleticism above and beyond what I am actually capable of doing, and it is good.
In my everyday clothes, I do not have to think about what I am wearing, either while I am getting ready to put it on, while I am actually wearing it, or while I am washing it. I do not have to contend with mismatching colors, even though the chances are small in an aggressively Winter wardrobe. It is enough of a problem getting clothes on me and out the door already. Either something gets put into the routine and becomes an everyday thing (or if the routine gets too big, it crashes and then we have to rebuild) or it does not happen except for Very Special Events. I do not have to contend with clothing that will drive me crazy, in the literal bad-for-my-mental-health sense of the word. Clothing that needs alterations to fit properly -- that is not reasonable for me, because of the time it takes for me to get to it on my to-do list. I do not have to contend with clothing that will curtail my activities. I can walk about. I do not need to fear elevated grated walkways. I do not need to fear that someone will step on my shoe, or spill something on my skirt. I do not need to fear that I will spill something on my shirt, because the fabric washes and does not tend to attract stains. I am clumsy. I have large breasts. I have a tomboy's tropism for dirt and mud, even when I am trying my best to care for my clothing.
Locating clothing that fits all my standards is non-trivial. I am large, with large breasts, I wear skirts, I wear black. I am often on an uncomfortable budget without room for large purchases (see the Sam Vimes "Boots" Theory of Economic Injustice). I have not entirely embraced ordering things from catalogs (this includes websites). (Please, ffs, do not turn the comments section into advice on where to shop; I do not think I could handle that right now.) When my wardrobe is insufficient, I check the clothing sections of places where I have successfully gotten clothing that fits my standards as a matter of routine, in hopes that they a) have something, and b) it's in the budget. I do not actually enjoy shopping for clothing under most circumstances.
I know that my view of everyday clothes is not everybody's view of everyday clothes. I know some people have clothes that need to be treated very delicately, and wear them every day. My father at one point took it into his head that to get ahead at work, to be treated like a respectable adult at work and not like the disposable geek, he should dress in business wear. So he switched from jeans and tan work shirts to "plastic clothes" (his term), and he washed and ironed them himself because no one else could be trusted to do it right (and I suspect Mama put her foot down and decided to have none of this noise, and if he was going to create extra work by changing his lifestyle, then he could pick up the extra work that it took). From my perspective as a child, it seemed to be something that gave him very little actual benefit but a whole lot of pain in the ass. We knew about the pain in the ass because he told us about it. (Perhaps he was less complainy than I remember, but it was quite vigorously apparent to us that he resented wearing this, he resented the care it took, and any time he was upset, there was a certain amount of spillover on anyone who had to deal with him. He did not consciously make the decision that because he hated his life, hated his job, and hated wearing plastic clothes, that he would make our lives miserable, but there is only so far you can cope with an irritated guy with an avalanche temper.) I deal with irritation in ways similar to my father. I get snappy. Things that would not otherwise bother me, bother me more. People around me have the pleasure of dealing with me in a Mood. I don't like dealing with me in a Mood. I don't like inflicting that on my friends. So I try to arrange things such that I am not upset often.
So my position on regularly wearing clothes that have fussy care requirements is sort of like my position on being monogamous: some of the people I know practice it, some of them seem to get something out of it, it's really not something I "get", and it seems to cause a lot of misery that from my perspective is mostly unnecessary. It's a valid choice that people make, and I don't want to take that choice away from them, but when all it seems to do is make them complain, my reaction is more "Look at your life! Look at your choices!" than sympathy.
Some Very Special Events, the costuming ritual is part of the buildup of excitement. I want to be there, and I want to look like this, and everything that I do is an important and fulfilling part of it. This is what it's for. This is the good side. This is what allows me to have any degree of sympathy for the people who do this regularly.
Some, I know I want to be there, and I know how I want to look, and I recognize that how I want to look is not going to be comfortable. So I can either go dressed comfortably but miss the exact look I was pitching for, or go dressed uncomfortably and get the look right. I resent the choice. Sometimes I opt for the look, and I usually regret it. Sometimes I opt for comfort, and I am usually fine, but I still wish I had the look. Sometimes I opt for the look and miss by a fucking mile, and then I'm neither comfortable nor looking like I want to, and that makes me cranky as hell.
Some, it's pure irritation. I want to be there, but I resent like fucking hell the fact that I have to DO ALL THIS FUCKING SHIT WHICH I HATE DOING to look as I am expected to look. This gets in the way of my enjoyment, and often as not I wish I'd stayed home. Due to my assorted fun with mobility, shoes are a particular problem. Bad shoes make the difference between "can walk with pain" and "cannot walk". Shoes that look good and feel good are not cheap. I am lucky that I prefer black shoes, because otherwise I'd be searching for type, look, size, comfort, budget, and color, rather than just the five factors. (We have seen my rageface when adding the sixth. Kat is lucky I love her.)
Sometimes, I don't even want to be there, and those are the worst. If, anywhere in there, is clothing that causes me active discomfort, I will be even more miserable and resentful throughout. Since I am in theory a grown-ass adult, I would hope that I would keep the actual complaints about this to Twitter, where it would be out of the way of the people actually trying to enjoy whatever it was. If it's optional, I don't go.
Even the anticipation or fear of clothing discomfort is sometimes enough to make me completely flip my stack, and rationality is no longer a part of this conversation. In short?
SHOES. FUCKING SHOES. I HATE FUCKING SHOES.
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